Struggle For Life
by TheCatOfNight
Summary: It's the 75th Hunger Games. To represent the hope that the rebels once had, 2 tributes can win. Kira is fighting to save her brother. Can she win these Games? (Rated T for Hunger Games violence, and some disturbing content.)
1. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

"And so, for our third Quarter Quell, 2 tributes can come home.

With that, the power goes off again. I slump back into the floral dusty cushions that we call a couch. It's still fairly light out, but we had all become accustomed to the glow of the television. Now we're back in the dark.

We're all silent for a few moments. Finally, my brother let's out a quiet sigh and makes his way up the creaky stairs. He disappears into his room. The door slams. Rodney's been acting like this for the past couple of weeks. It's his first year, and his name was put in 8 times. He insisted on it, but the odds are less in his favour now, and he knows it.

I close my eyes and take in the musty scent of the couch. Our living room is pretty depressing. Grey walls, a faded pile of cushions for a couch. A TV that never comes on unless one of us is sick or there's an important announcement. Like the Hunger Games.

Eventually, my mother rises to go make dinner. My father gets ready to leave for his night shift. I sit there, the word echoing in my head. _Hope._ Hope for the rebels that they could win. Hope for the tributes, who have a larger chance of victory. Perhaps I should go pay my brother a visit.

The wooden stairs groan beneath my weight. I don't weigh much though, for a 13-year-old. You could place a feather on these stairs though, and they would still creak. I have the constant fear that the boards will give out and crash under my weight. They can handle my father though. They should tolerate my weight.

I knock once. Rodney's door opens. I step inside to see Rod staring out of his window. I sigh, and he speak without turning around.

"I'm going to get reaped. You know that right?"

I frown. "Why are you acting like this?" I ask. I'm becoming rather worried about his constant state of depression.

"Why do you care?" he growls. Brown eyes lock into mine, piercing through me. "We live in a sad, friggin' state. Reduced to what? Killing each other for sport! I HATE THIS-" That's when I clamp my hand over his mouth. "Quiet." I mutter. I fear that our parents will hear, or worse.

Rodney takes my hand of his mouth. He lets out a long sigh. "I just don't care anymore Kira." He shuts hi eyes. "I just don't care."

He walks out of the room, head down. Unfortunately for me, that was only the beginning.


	2. Chapter 1

**(Author's Note: I know the Prologue was a bit short. I know this chapter is also short as well, and I hope to make longer chapters in the future.)**

I adjust the satin blue bow once more before stepping back. I observe myself in the dusty, cracked mirror.

I wear a silky white dress that we save for special occasions, such as today. Silver flats that are growing a bit tight on my feet. And finally, the satin blue bow that I got for Christmas on my 11th birthday. I give it a final adjustment so it looks perfect in my brown hair.

There's a knock on the door, rattling the mirror slightly. I open the door to see Rodney standing in front of me. Mom's wrestled him into a decent faded black tuxedo and brown leather shoes. His spiky black hair has been tamed by a gob of hair gel. His brown eyes reflect agitation into my blue ones.

"You look nice." I say. "Thanks," he mutters. "I like the bow."

We exchange places, and I head down the hall into the kitchen. It's empty, so I assume that my parents must still be upstairs getting ready. I should really have a light snack before I leave, but I don't have the appetite. Still, I manage to force down a few salty crackers that normally help settle my stomach. I take a sip of water in hopes of moistening my throat. The crackers don't help, but I already know that nothing will.

Mother comes in wearing her wedding dress, the only good dress she really has. It's a shame she has to wear such a nice thing to such a horrid event. Father follows her, wearing a white tux and black pants. "Where's Rodney?" he asks. "He's still upstairs in the bathroom." I reply.

"Rodney!" he shouts. "Come on down, we want to get down there early before it gets crowded!"

"Coming," Rodney mumbles from upstairs. He exits the bathroom, and we leave the house. We walk to the town square. Thankfully, since it's considered a holiday, none of the factories are running. Normally, when we come outside, there are so many fumes coming from the factories of District 5 that it's almost unbearably nauseating. If it weren't for the ominous threat looming over our head like the dark factory towers, it would've been a pleasant walk.

We arrive early. Mother and Father go off to talk to their friends, while Rod and I find our groups and wait. A few of my friends are with me, but no one makes any attempt at conversation.

After an hour, our representative, Wiyla Tonks shows up in her bizarre neon green suit that she wears annually for this occasion. Bright blue hair to match, and she looks like a regular Capitol freak. I'll never understand their interest in such odd combinations of clothing and makeup.

The mayor stands up the read the Treason of Treaty. I immediately tune this out. His voice is replaced by my own, which remains in my head. Thoughts about today, Rodney, school, topics that drift around in my head until plucked out at random.

The speech is finished too soon. I'm not ready for them to pick out the tribute. I'm not ready to see an innocent bystander praying for their life, only to be picked out like the thoughts in my head- at random, then executed.

Wiyla stands up and chirps, "Gentlemen first!" Her hand fishes around in the glass bowl, then selects a slip. I can feel the sweat under my bangs, dripping down my forehead. My hands have become clammy and shaky. Wiyla clears her throat. "This year's…"

No.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"…male tribute…"

Please no…

"..of the 75th Hunger Games…"

No! Stop!

"…is.."

SHUT UP!

"…"

Wait, what did she say? Did she hear my thoughts and fall silent? I open my eyes. Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Wiyla's on stage poking and prodding at her mike. A peacekeeper runs over, handing her a new one.

She laughs. "Sorry, we had some slight technical difficulties. This year's tribute is Mark Slotzker."

I breathe out relief. I hear several others doing so too. Rodney's safe. My brother's safe as can be. Now, if they would get the girls out of the way, I could relax. Go home. Act as though it was a normal day. School was out because of a power failure. We were just having a leisurely day at home. Perhaps Rodney will even brighten up a bit.

"Wait!" Someone calls out. "I volunteer."

The boy on stage seems relieved.

But I'm not. My heart drops into my stomach. I almost faint.

That voice belongs to my brother.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**(A/N: Thanks to everyone who R&R's! I've been forgetting the disclaimers too. I do not own The Hunger Games. I only own Rodney, Kira, and my other charries. Suzanne Collins owns the Hunger Games, not me. Enjoy the chapter!)**

I barely choke down the strangled cry that almost escapes me. Seeing him so calmly stroll onto the stage, it doesn't seem right. My vision is blurring, my world is crashing into a dizzying spinning motion, time is slowing down, maybe even reversing. One of my friends gives me a look. _"You ok?" _she mouths. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, although it's more like I'm trying to wake up from an odd dream. Well, more like a nightmare.

I don't even hear the girl tribute. Only one word. "Hope," I mutter. "Hope. I can still save him." But I can't. There's nothing I can do now. Except for one thing. I open my eyes and dash towards the stage.

"I volunteer!" I screamed. I hopped up onto the stage next to Rodney. He gapes at me, bewildered, then angered. "What are you doing?" he hisses. I don't say anything. I just stare at him. The girl runs from the stage as though it were on fire.

Wiyla composes herself. "W-Well, it appears we have two volunteers this year. Quite a turn of events." She turns to Rodney.

"What's your name, hun?"

"Rodney," he mumbles into the mike. Wiyla turns an passes the mike to me. "Kira Relletizer," I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I sound confident to myself, and Wiyla seems to notice this.

"Well!" she exclaims. "Such confidence! You two must be good friends! Had this all planned out, didn't you?"

I shake my head. "Siblings, actually," I add.

"Oh my, your parents must be very proud of both of you, such brave children. A round of applause for Rodney and Kira Relletizer!" She looks kind of silly, being the only one smacking her hands together frantically. She seems to realize this, and slowly comes to a halt with her clapping.

She takes a step back for the mayor to begin yet another long, boring speech. I space out again, which gives my mind to think about the full impact of my actions. _I could be dead. Flat out dead in 20 minutes. What have I done? _I wonder to myself. All of a sudden I feel nauseous and my palms are a sweaty mess. I don't even need to look over to know that Rodney is glaring at me as well.

The speech ends. They whisk Rodney and I away to separate rooms with drab brown walls and very little furniture. To say our final good-byes. But it seems more like an interrogation. And I know it will be, in some ways, the second I see Mother come in first, eyes red.

"Kira, baby. Why did you do it? Now I risk losing both of my beloved children before I should."

_Brace your self, Kira. You knew this was coming. _And I did. Her eyes are brimming- and ready to overflow- with tears. I have to fight my own back. I can't explain my tears easily, after volunteering. I would have to explain my dilemma with Rodney, then he would be angry with me. It wouldn't make sense, trying to explain it to anyone. So tears are an absolute no-no.

"I…I have to go with Rodney. He's…" I let out a sigh. "There's something wrong with him. He wouldn't volunteer unless he had a death wish, and we both know that."

Mother and I both sit in silence for a minute, sitting in a stew of our own thoughts. Then she speaks, "Ok…I just want you to know that I love both of you dearly. Please take care of him for me." Tears stream down her face.

"I will Mother. I love you too." I hug her until the Peacekeepers bring Father in, and take Mother- who is now sobbing loudly- away. It looks like he hasn't broken down yet. Good. I don't need more tears then I have to deal with.

Father sits down and lets out a low sigh. "I think I get it now," he says. "You're only in this to protect Rodney." He leans forward and looks me in the eye. "You think he can't take care of himself?"

The factory scent is lingering around him, swimming into my nostrils. I didn't expect tears, but I didn't expect this either. I stiffen in my wooden chair. "He's sick."

Father raises an eyebrow. "Sick?"

"Mentally…" I add. "Father, I think he's depressed."

He leans back into his chair. I loosen my muscles. No one said anything for a moment. My family tends to have a lot of silent moments. More often lately then normal, when we're speechless, at loss for words, or simply just deep in thought. Suddenly, out of nowhere, father spoke.

"I love you, Kira." A kiss on the forehead, a hug, and he's gone. On his way back home. Not me though. There's far more in store for me and Rodney. I think about this during the 5 extra minutes they give Rodney and I in the brown room. I curl up on the black leather couch, wishing I could fall asleep, then wake up in my own bed.

"Your mentors will be here shortly." With that, Wiyla Tonks and her blinding yellow high heels clop out of the room. Rodney looks at me.

"Mentors? As in more than one? Can we handle more than one?" he asks me. His hair has been fighting against the gel restraining it, and he's made no effort to flatten it back down.

I shrug. "I suppose." Rod makes it seem like we'll be getting ten mentors, although that would be very silly and unreasonable. Plus we're not exactly a Career district.

After 5 minutes, no one shows up. I wonder what could possibly be taking so long. I realize though, that I must ask Rodney now, before someone shows up. A question that has been bubbling up inside of me since the Reaping finally pops out.

"Why'd you do it?" I ask him.

"Do what?" he retorts.

"Don't play stupid with me Rodney. Why did you do it?"

"Do _what?_" Rodney demanded.  
"Why did you volunteer?!"

"Why did YOU volunteer?"

"To protect you," I whisper. "To keep you safe."

Rodney doesn't soften the least bit. "I don't _need _your protection!" he shouts into my face.

"Then WHY DID YOU VOLUNTEER?!" I scream back at him.

"Whoa, whoa, whoaaa, what's all the yellin' about?" A man with a cowboy hat slurred as he strolled into the room. He plopped down into a grey chair. The other man came in and rolled his eyes. His hair was spiky, like Rodney's, but purple, and he wore a blue suit.

I sunk down into a giant, red, plush cushion. It was actually quite comfortable. Rodney stood there staring at his brown leather shoes. We're both still in our Reaping clothes.

"Do not mind my partner," the purple-haired man said. "He's an absurd, drunken idiot. Now, may I have the names of these two lovely tributes?" he purred in a way that sort of gave me the creeps, like I shouldn't be anywhere near him.

"Kira Relletizer," I say, the man staring me in the face.

"Rodney Relletizer," Rod says, the man still staring me in the face.

He backs out of my face. "Siblings, eh?" he mutters. "Age?"

"12 and 13," Rod answers.

"Height?"

"5'2 and 5'4."

"Weight?"

He just went on for a bit, rattling off questions and Rodney spouting out answers. Thankfully for me he's answering, because I don't want to speak another word to that grotesque Capitol man. He won't stop staring at me, and I've never had anyone observe me in such a disturbing way before. Suddenly, the string of questions ended.

"Good," the man said. "Your stylist shall find this information useful. Off with you now, I shall speak to you children at dinner." He trotted away, Wiyla clopping after him. I breathed out relief at his absence, as sweat had begun to bead on my forehead.

"Are them horses there yet?" The cowboy slurred. "I heard the cloppin'. Clip, clop, cliiip, cloooooooooop." With that, he slumped out of the chair and onto the floor, out cold. For the first time in a long time, Rodney and I shared a good laugh. That kind of laugh where you can't stop even though tears are streaming down your face.

Rodney stopped abruptly, the frown returning to his face. He stood there, confused for a moment, then left. I gave a light cough, just to add some sort of sound to the room, and went into my compartment. Big flop onto my bed, face down into the lavender sheets, more tears streaming onto the bed. But these were tears of sadness, not joy.

I lay there for 20 minutes, sobbing my heart out. When I was done, I curled up on the bed, hiding beneath the sheets. I wanted nothing more than to erase my own pain. To erase Rodney's pain. To start today over. But I couldn't. All I could do was lay there, numb, emotionless, silent. I fell asleep at some point, cradled by the rocking train into a sweet oblivion.


End file.
